


illogicality

by JaguarCello



Category: Star Trek
Genre: M/M, punk Kirk, slight intoxication, straight-edge Spock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 15:51:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kirk is in a bar, looking for pity. Love shows up anyway. Illogic prevails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	illogicality

**Author's Note:**

> this is for helen   
>  i'm sorry it's bad  
>  punk's not dead it's just a little inebriated

“Didn’t know crocodile clips were, you know, a viable clothing choice,” the girl with the smirk and the studs on her shoulders told him, leaning forwards to poke at his jacket with her long nails.

 “Sorry, didn’t know punk was a trend, nowadays,” Jim Kirk told her, rolling a cigarette between his grubby fingers. He kept dropping it, though, and it had already fallen into the puddle of what _might_ have been vodka. “Nice kilt,” he added, and she held out a corner of the kilt for him to run his hands over.

“Just because,” she warned him, “I’m letting you touch the kilt doesn’t mean I’d have sex with you. That’s a promise. I swear on Joe Strummer’s soul,” and he nodded, and shoved his arms free of his jacket, rummaging in the pockets for another cigarette paper.

“What do your tattoos mean?” she asked, pointing at his arm, where a snake writhed and a clock-face twisted and melted. He looked down, and tilted his head to see them better.

 “Well, this one doesn’t mean anything, really. I wanted my entire existence to be a rebellion, and I got it when I got my lip pierced for the first time – “

 She looked up. “The first time?”

Kirk nodded, running his tongue over the ring at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah. It was ripped out, in a fight. With a good friend of mine, actually – he’s impossible to irritate, until he’s so angry that he’d try to throttle you. Like, he’s unemotional half the time. He has no taste in music.” He licked along the paper, and started digging around in his pocket for a lighter.

 “Can punk guys be friends with – emotionally stunted people?” the girl asked, lighting his cigarette with her own. Kirk laughed at that.

“He doesn’t appreciate the _freedom_ of sticking your middle finger up at the world, or of fucking who you’re not supposed to – although,” and his voice dropped to a whisper, “we’ve been doing plenty of that, he and I. He likes rules and regimentation – not very punk rock at all, really -  and if he could get away with it he’d probably wear a _suit_ – he spends all his money on nice coats and shoe polish.” He smiled, and blew a thin plume of smoke upwards.

 She watched him, dark eyes following his every move. “He means a lot to you, then,” she said, and pulled her jacket around her shoulders. “This _friend_ ,” and Kirk laughed again, spilling his drink over his jacket and tattered jeans.

“We’re very different. Really, I should hate him.  He’s a vegetarian, and he’s fucking fastidious about it. He – well, he owns a lot of the same coloured shirt. I can beat him at the cryptic crosswords, but he gets me on the number puzzles every time, and I’ve seen him solve a Rubik’s Cube with his feet.” He smiled against the rim of his glass. “He’s over there, actually,” he said, and brightened, sitting up straight so quickly that he had to hold onto the bar for support.

 “Spock!” he called, and a tall man with dark hair and thick eyebrows came over to them. He took in the scene; the empty glasses, the girl, how Kirk was almost slipping off his barstool, the green tint to the girl’s hair, and breathed in, slowly.

“We’re supposed to be back by now. It’s our night off, yes, but we still have a curfew,” Spock said, voice clipped.

“Curfews are for babies,” Kirk told him, leaning in close as if about to whisper, or to plant a kiss on the side of his face. “But we’re not babies, are we?” he added, and Spock leaned away from him.

 “You smell like a distillery,” he said, nose wrinkled. “And you spilled vodka on the kitchen floor and the cat licked it up, and she is currently unconscious.” He fell silent, eyes moving between the girl and Spock.

“It’s Nyota, you know,” she said sharply. “Since he didn’t bother asking me,” and Kirk shrugged.

“I would have done, it’s just that – “ he leaned forwards to whisper in her ear, and she rolled her eyes but let him – “It’s just that I’m in love with my best friend and I’m convinced he can’t feel love and even if he did I’m just an idiot who was a juvenile delinquent and now I’m an adult, but still fairly delinquent,” and she looked round at him, and for the first time her eyes were filled with tenderness.

 “You’ve never told anyone that before, have you?” she asked, and Spock’s eyes flickered between the two.

 “Nope,” Kirk admitted, taking another sip, and wincing at the way it stung his throat. “Also, he’s straight-edge, but not in so many words, and I put safety pins in my ears – can you really see it working? I’m too – illogical. Rough edges, and he likes clear-cut corners. I’m pissed off with the world the whole time, but he wants to save it. And then he’s torn between two ideals, blah blah blah.” He looked down at his hands, and Spock moved closer to him.

 “I am present still, you know,” he said, but Kirk didn’t look up.

 “That’s another thing,” he muttered to Nyota. “He speaks properly, pedantically, although he does sound like an idiot. I start fights, he holds me back, when he’s not ripping out my lip-ring by mistake. I wish that had been a sex thing, but he’s cautious and careful and I want it to _hurt_ ,” and Nyota rolled her eyes again.

 “Spock? Kirk is in love with you. You can thank me later. I suggest safewords,” she said to them both, and then turned to go, back-combed hair in a tangle. They watched her leave, and then Spock sat down carefully on her bar stool.

 “I don’t know what people mean when they say love. I know it’s a desperate thing, a cry to the abyss, a reconciliation of two souls – I’ve read the books and seen the films and, once, I watched porn.”

 Kirk looked up at that, eyes wide and imagination racing. “You’ve seen – “

 Spock looked pained, and his nostrils flared, so Kirk slumped back down on the bar, but he was no longer teetering precariously.

 “But,” Spock went on, “I have no idea what it feels like. I feel different when I’m with you. Logic is no longer as important as making you smile,” and his eyes were dark and earnest, and Kirk couldn’t stop looking at him. “And when you’re angry at me for not liking the New York Dolls, I go and listen to their entire discography, searching for some meaning to the music so that I might understand. I’ve not found anything that I like, but then you’re not like anything that I usually like.” He paused, and took Kirk’s cigarette from his hand, tapped it – dropping ash onto Kirk’s boots and his shoes – and then returned it. “It would be a great shame if you were to catch fire,” he said solemnly, and Kirk laughed again.

 “Spock?” he asked, dragging on the cigarette. “I – “ he started, but then his smoke-stained and blooded fingers were tracing the sharp planes of Spock’s face.

 “I propose a trial period,” Spock told him, face threatening to split into a smile.

“Why, Mister Spock,” Kirk said, and Spock’s hair felt just as soft as it looked, “I’ve always wondered about your opinion of my lip ring,” and Spock’s eyes snapped to his mouth. “In the name of scientific discovery, would it be alright if I were to kiss you?”

 “You’re illogical,” Spock told him, but he kissed him anyway, quickly, like he was dipping his toes into an ocean of immeasurable depth, and then he was caught by the tide. 


End file.
